


Week 6: White / Status

by DramioneLDWS



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29971497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneLDWS/pseuds/DramioneLDWS
Summary: Each chapter is an individual drabble written by a single participant.IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: Due to the potential for heavy themes/triggering content, please pay attention to every individual drabble's trigger warnings. If you feel uncomfortable reading an entry, please notify an admin. If you are not comfortable notifying an admin, you are not obligated to read triggering content.Please mind the tags/triggers at the top of each entry.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Ron Weasley
Comments: 72
Kudos: 33
Collections: Last Drabble Writer Standing - Round 3: Rare Pairs





	1. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Checkmate  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 499  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [ScullyMurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyMurphy/pseuds/ScullyMurphy)

Ron came across the chess board the first night of prefect rounds. Turned a corner and there it was, sitting in an alcove off a shadowy corridor.

It was already set up. White had opened and there was a notepad next to the board.

 _Want to play?_ The handwriting elegantly curled.

Ron snorted. An enchanted board—barmy Hogwarts thing. He’d likely never see it again. But he looked over his shoulder and moved the black knight to f6 before walking away.

* * *

He went back a few nights later and the board was still there, now with a white pawn on c4.

 _Interesting move!_ The note said.

Ron sat. Studied the board for a while before moving his pawn to c5.

He returned to a white knight on f3. _Intriguing_ , a new note said. _Write back this time!_

Ron stared at the notepad longer than the board, finally settling on ‘ **Hullo** ’ for his message.

“Daft,” he muttered, still unsure he wasn’t communicating with some canny bit of magic.

 _Clever move, not so clever note_ , the next missive said.

 **Ha.** he wrote back.

* * *

Ron slowly became convinced his opponent was human. The play was too complex—no enchanted board had ever beat him this soundly—and the notes had _personality_.

 **I’m no match for you** , he wrote one night in October after his fifth loss in a row.

 _Don’t be silly_ , the return note said. _I wouldn’t keep playing if you weren’t good_.

* * *

**Why do you play in secret?** Ron hesitated before leaving this one.

 _People of my ‘gender and status aren’t supposed to play chess’_.

This note accompanied a vicious snatching of his bishop and Ron smiled at both. So his mysterious opponent was a she…and probably a Slytherin.

He made his move, then scribbled a reply. **Well, that’s stupid.**

* * *

He finally beat her in early December after eight straight losses.

 **About time!** he wrote. **I think this deserves a prize.**

 _Like what_? Her opening move portended swift retaliation.

Ron pondered before he wrote. **Let’s play in person. And not in some dark hallway. Three Broomsticks? They have a board.**

Two nights without a response and Ron was worried. **Sorry,** he wrote under his last note, **if that was too much.**

 _No. I need to stop hiding. Broomsticks it is. Saturday. 3pm. Bring your favorite piece so I’ll know you_.

The white queen was gone.

* * *

Ron walked into the pub, palms sweating. He spotted her instantly. Back to the room, slight—younger than he’d thought. He made some mental rearrangements as he approached.

“Hullo,” he said.

Bright eyes flicked to his, then widened as they took him in.

“Ron Weasley.”

Ron held out his king. “And you’re...Daphne Greengrass’s—?”

“Sister. Yes. Astoria. Nice to...meet you.” She saluted with the white queen.

Ron kept standing, certain she could read every confused emotion going through his head.

Suddenly, she smiled. “We’re both going to have to be brave, aren’t we?”

To his surprise, Ron smiled back.

“You’re right.” He sat down. “Let’s play.”


	2. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Introductions  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 492  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [Mimifreed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimifreed/pseuds/Mimifreed)

It was a white paper bag wrapped around a glass bottle containing an amber liquid that caught her attention. 

From where she stood, Astoria could smell the sharp tang of whisky rolling off the man in waves of hiccups and nonsensical rambling. His shoulders were slumped, red hair framing his face that was turned toward the stars. The low light of the alcove behind The Leaky Cauldron caught the shimmer of wet that streaked his cheeks. 

“Are you quite alright?” she asked, before she had the sense to turn around and ignore the war hero sobbing against the bricks. She had seen him before, of course, his picture was constantly splashed across _The Daily Prophet_ , one third of the famed “Golden Trio”.

A sarcastic laugh puffed past his lips and he waved the bottle in her direction, the white paper bag slipping a few inches from his grip. “Bloody brilliant.”

Ignoring the voice in the back of her head that insisted this was not her problem, Astoria took a few hesitant steps forward. Her face pulled in distaste at the dirt on the ground where he sat and she waved her wand to clear the space before carefully lowering herself next to him, her legs folded in front of her.

“Well, come on then.” She said, holding her hand out toward the bottle.

He straightened up a bit, turning to look at her. “What?”

Astoria shook her hand at him, insistent. “It’s rather rude to not offer a lady a drink.”

He barked out a laugh and took a swig from the bottle, “You drink cheap Firewhisky?”

“Well, I don’t prefer it. But, given it’s my only option at the moment…” she trailed off, raising her eyebrows at him, her empty fingers wiggling toward the paper wrapped bottle.

He snorted and handed it to her, his blue eyes piercing as he watched her raise it to her lips.

“To what are we drinking this evening?” she asked.

“I failed my Auror exams,” he said, miserably.

Astoria drew her brows together and pursed her lips, “To second chances, then?”

“I’m not going back to the academy,” he admitted. “I don’t know why I thought I could do it in the first place. I’ll just go work at the joke shop with George.”

“It would have been polite to just agree, I can’t drink to your humiliation—that’s in bad taste.” 

His mouth pulled up on one side, a sloppy, lopsided smile. He held a hand out toward her, “Ron Weasley.”

“I know who you are.”

“It would have been polite to just shake my hand,” Ron parroted. “Drinking my whisky and not introducing yourself? _That’s_ in bad taste.”

“I haven’t drank your whisky yet,” Astoria said, with a smirk. She took his proffered hand, “Astoria Greengrass.”

“To new friends, then?” Ron said, smiling brightly.

Astoria returned the smile and raised the bottle to her lips, the bag crinkling beneath her fingers. “To new friends.”


	3. Peacock Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Peacock Problems  
> Rating: M  
> Word Count: 500  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [DramioneDreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneDreaming/pseuds/DramioneDreaming)

“You do realise that I’m not Malfoy, right?”

“Thank Circe for that,” Astoria replied. “Granger can deal with all that angst and daddy issues now.”

“Right, but back to the peacocks…”

“I know, Ronald dearest, I despise the feathered nuisances too. They are destroying the flower beds, but we do what we must to remain relevant and I’m certain the house elves will find a way to protect the Lobelia in no time.”

“Well, if you hate them… and I hate them… then why the bloody hell do we have six of them running around the grounds, Tori?”

“Because the Malfoys only have five.”

Ron looked at his wife in bewilderment, wondering if that explanation was supposed to make any kind of sense to him at all.

“So, you’re telling me that I have to deal with a flock of flea ridden birds prancing around the place because we are in some kind of unspoken game of one-upmanship with the Malfoys?”

“Peafowl don’t get fleas dear, at worst they will get chiggers. No need to be so dramatic,” Astoria sighed in a long-suffering manner before flicking her dark eyes in Ron’s direction. His skin tone was usually a fairly good barometer for judging his emotions. His flush currently fell somewhere in the region of salmon to light coral, which indicated that although he was becoming increasingly annoyed, he had not yet reached the point at which reasoning with him was completely futile.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Luna if you are talking about chiggers,” Ron grumbled.

“Albino peacocks are a status symbol in pureblood circles,” Astoria explained. “I’ll be damned if Hermione Granger lives in a Manor that is not only bigger than ours, but also has more bloody peacocks!”

“Astoria, if this is about the fact that they have more money than we do….”

“Of course it’s not the money, Ronald. If galleons were all that mattered, I would have married Gregg years ago.”

“Goyle! You’re saying you’d have married Greggory Effing Goyle so you could have more bloody peacocks?”

“That is quite literally the opposite of what I just said. Would you like me to go find a Pensieve to replay that for you?” Astoria scoffed, looping her arm through Ron’s. “Honestly, out of anyone I would have thought that you would understand my admittedly rather petty need to out-do our exes for once. Or have you forgotten how many galleons you spent last month on a broomstick for Rose?”

“There is no way I was letting Rose fly around on a Twigger 90 when Scorpius turned up to the first practice with a Transylvanian Barb. He would have outstripped her by miles!”

“They are 4 years old; we are lucky if either of them can stay on their broom for more than 5 minutes at a time. I don’t think speed is their biggest issue.”

“It’s the principle of it. My kid deserves just as good as his.”

“Agreed. Hence the peacocks.”

“Got it. Peacocks.”


	4. Stars Have Aligned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Stars Have Aligned  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 499  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [RoseHarperMaxwell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHarperMaxwell/pseuds/RoseHarperMaxwell)

Astoria Greengrass was pristine.

New Range Rover _(Fuji White,_ he heard her tell Pansy). Sleek high ponytail, not a strand out of place. Spotless uniform and cheerleading shoes, somehow impervious to grass stains.

Everything about her was perfect. Ron's gaze followed her down the hallway.

"She’s not as pure as she looks," said McLaggen, "but you still don't stand a chance, Weasley."

"Quit slut-shaming, Cormac. It's one of the many reasons you're intolerable." Hermione tugged Ron away from their lockers by his sleeve, voice softening. "Just talk to her, Ron. She's nice." 

Ron appreciated more than the stretch of Astoria's sweater or the flounce of her sinfully short skirt. She _was_ nice. Though popular, she wasn't conceited. Her smile was always genuine. 

Even so, he remained infatuated from a distance. McLaggen was right about one thing: Astoria was out of his league.

* * *

When Sinistra announced astronomy project partners, Ron tried to look indifferent. But privately he thought, _Our stars have aligned._

"We should get started tonight," Astoria said. "Whose house do you want to meet at?"

Ron pictured his home, cozy and welcoming. Full of boisterous siblings ever eager to humiliate him. Astoria had one sister, and her family lived in the full-size candy bar neighborhood. 

"Yours is good," he said quickly. "If you don't mind."

"Sure," she said, pushing a Blow Pop past glossy lips, tucking it in her cheek like a chipmunk. A _sexy_ chipmunk. "Should we do a PowerPoint? That might be best." 

She led. Ron followed, thoroughly smitten. They got an A on their project.

* * *

Since then, it had become even harder to keep his mind and his eyes off of her. 

He leaned against Harry's car, watching Astoria from across the field. 

"Okay," said Harry, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. "We're gonna be late for practice. Let's go." 

Ron pushed off from the car, still staring, and took two steps before he went sprawling in the gravel. He lay face down, unmoving. _This is where my life ends,_ he thought. _Cause of death: mortification._

"Jesus, man, what'd you even trip over?" Harry hauled him to his feet. "You alright?"

Ron barely heard him. He brushed himself off, unable to resist another glance across the field. Of course, the one time he'd catch her looking back, she'd seen him fall on his face. 

Astoria ducked her chin, biting her lip to hide a smile. But Ron knew what it felt like when someone was laughing at him, and this wasn't it. 

She met his eyes, treating him to a flash of dazzling teeth. "Hey," she mouthed, giving a little wave. "You okay?"

He nodded. The grin on his face was as impossible to control as the flush that spread across his skin.

He'd captured the attention of Astoria Greengrass. Not in his finest moment, of course. But she'd been watching him. While she was undoubtedly still out of his reach, Ron felt the first glimmer of hope that he might someday close the distance.


	5. Status Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Status Report  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 500  
> Warnings: Childhood Illness
> 
> AUTHOR: [persephone_stone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone_stone/pseuds/persephone_stone)

**STATUS REPORT 1**

Today was my first visit with a new patient: six-year-old Rose Granger-Weasley. It’s worth noting that I’m not _actually_ accepting new patients, but her father was most persistent in obtaining care for her. 

I’ll never forget him sitting on the waiting room floor of my pediatric healing practice, refusing to leave despite my secretary threatening to have him arrested for trespassing. 

“Please,” he’d said to me, and the desperation in his voice gave me pause. “I’m not here for myself, I’m here for my daughter. She’s sick, and no one else has been able to help, and I can’t—I _can’t—”_

And then he’d started crying. 

I must include in this report an explanation of why I so readily agreed to Mr. Weasley’s request. Three years ago his wife, the famous war heroine Hermione Granger, died in a tragic accident. As someone who lost my own mother at a young age while suffering through health problems, well…

Let’s just say her case struck a nerve. 

In our first meeting, I found Rose to be a quiet, serious girl. She clutched a stuffed otter to her chest while I examined her, but I managed to coax a smile out of her when I listened to the otter’s heartbeat while casting her diagnostic scan. The results lit the room bright red: a sure indication of illness.

Rose’s case will be challenging, but I’m confident in my ability to help her. I’ll be tracking my process—and hopefully, my progress—through this journal.

**STATUS REPORT 28**

I find myself frustrated and confused by Rose’s case, so much so that I’ve transferred care of my other patients to members of my healing team. 

While the potions I’ve brewed her have helped, the diagnostic scans are still glowing a pale, pinkish red. Rose assured me it’s her favorite color, so not to worry. That coaxed a smile out of _me._

And though not strictly necessary to include in this report, I also find myself frustrated and confused by her father. By _Ron._ I remember him from Hogwarts, of course, but we’d never spoken before he begged for my help. 

He’s not at all what I expected. 

He braids Rose’s hair. He hosts bedside tea parties for her dolls. He reads to us both while I work: muggle children’s books like _Alice in Wonderland_ and _The Wind in the Willows._ And when he thinks I’m not paying attention, I notice him watching me.

It’s not professional, but I find myself watching him, too.

**STATUS REPORT 76**

It happened today. After months of careful administration of an experimental potion I developed, Rose’s diagnostic scan glowed white.

She is healthy.

I excused myself from her room, not wanting to intrude on the joyful, tear-filled hugs between father and daughter. I only made it as far as the front step, prepared to weep quietly into my handkerchief, when Ron’s hand captured mine.

“Please,” he said, and the yearning in his voice gave me pause. “Come back inside.”

I did.


	6. The Best Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Best Man  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 500  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [bionically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/pseuds/bionically)

Her tears flow unceasingly for an hour before they fade into intermittent sniffles. Two hours after that, he speaks for the first time since their capture. “We’ll be fine. They’ll find us.”

Although his tone’s terse, Astoria latches onto his remark like a promise. “Really? Do you really think so?”

“Hermione would never give up on us. And she’s the cleverest woman I know. She’ll find a way.”

He isn’t looking at her, but at something far off in the distance, his fist clenched and a muscle ticking in his jaw. Almost to himself, he adds under his breath, “She has to.”

* * *

Most of the time, they’re kept in darkness. A round room with stone walls, the wind billows outside the arrow slits; strident and eerie, the bracing cold a reminder of the Dementors hovering nearby.

As the endless tedium of their days sinks in, they start to speak of their childhood, their marriage, their life outside these walls.

“She seems intimidating,” Astoria says timidly, unsure how her cellmate will respond. Her thoughts flash to the larger than life woman that’s Hermione Granger, and her accomplishments that’ve earned her publicity and scathing scrutiny from the _Prophet._

Ron—because he has too many brothers that he doesn’t respond to his surname—is silent, sitting with his back against the opposite wall, his face upturned towards the pebble he continuously tosses in the air. “She is. Bloody intimidating.” He flashes a smile, but it’s not at Astoria. “She’s the best woman I know. Always pushes me to be better.”

How would Astoria’s own fiancé describe her? Nobody’s ever called her _the best woman they know._ For a moment, she envies Hermione Granger her husband’s faith in her. They were Harry Potter’s lieutenants in the War, and truth be told, Astoria was slightly daunted to have one of them as her bodyguard on a routine trip, not knowing then just how precarious the situation was. 

“What if…” She bites her lip. “What if they never find us?”

Ron’s been such a stalwart bulwark against the encroaching fear that Astoria almost hates to ask.

He’s looking up at the dome-shaped ceiling of the tower, as he’s done for the past day. “I reckon I’ll climb up there through the opening. There’s a pulley up there that they use to deliver our food. ” A diffident shrug, as though he’s unsure about his plans. 

Without magic, he would fall to his death outside. She’d be left in here, and she might go crazy without his easygoing company.

“It’s probably not what Hermione’d come up with, but it’s worth a shot.”

Astoria understands then where he got that self-effacing nature. Next to his brilliant wife, things like his courage in staying by her to be hauled into this dank prison fade into the background.

But she knows. She’s seen it.

It crosses her mind that perhaps she’d like never to be rescued, if only she can stay in this small secluded fortress with the bravest man she’s ever known.


	7. The White Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: The White Queen  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 500  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [anne_ammons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anne_ammons/pseuds/anne_ammons)

It had always been clear that Astoria Greengrass would marry not just any pureblood, but another member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was what was expected, a duty she had been groomed for since birth.

She was a pawn, a minor player in the game of her own life. 

In the face of her failed engagement, her father had been furious, her mother apoplectic. 

And yet, Astoria had felt free. 

Sort of. 

Because while she no longer had to pretend to like Draco Malfoy, the expectation that she marry another member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight hadn’t changed. 

Her parents had insisted on the match when everyone knew his heart belonged to another. They had been concerned with appearance and obedience, sure that tradition would carry the day. But what was obligation in the face of love? 

In the midst of her parents’ conversation about whether the unexpectedly widowed Avery might take on their second daughter, Astoria slipped away to see the one person she thought might be able to help with her predicament.

It was an unexpected move: two steps forward, instead of waiting to be sacrificed. There was danger in stepping out, but also, opportunity.

“What do you want?” 

Ron Weasley wasn’t in any mood to receive company, but she wasn’t here for pleasantries. She stepped inside before he could refuse.

“I thought we should talk.”

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” 

She sighed. Say what you want about women; in actuality, men were far moodier.

Ron was supposed to be the strategic one. He should recognize a gambit when he saw it, but it all remained too raw for him, and Astoria didn’t have the luxury of waiting for him to catch up.

Pawns could be seized at any moment; they were vulnerable, though they were also largely overlooked.

“I think we might be able to help each other.”

“How so?” He looked unimpressed with her parry.

“I’m still in need of a husband, and while an unconventional choice, you have the requisite pedigree. My parents have ideas of who else I should marry, but I intend to make my own choice.”

“Are you mental? You think I’d want to marry _you_?” 

His face was red, a product of emotion, not logic. Feelings were an indulgence, however. She dealt in practicalities, strategic moves designed to produce the desired result. 

If a pawn reached the other side of the board, they could do anything, be anything. She wanted that freedom and the key to achieving it sat just across from her.

“You should be interested because I come with something that Hermione Granger definitely didn’t.” 

He scowled, “What’s that?” 

“A dowry. One so big that we can live quite comfortably and you can do whatever it is that you want.”

At that, Ron sat up, having grasped what she was offering, and Astoria knew she’d been promoted. The details didn’t matter. She now held the power of self-determination. 

She smiled at her future spouse.

Checkmate.


	8. White Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: White Heat  
> Rating: M  
> Word Count: 500  
> Warnings: Infidelity
> 
> AUTHOR: [granger_danger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/granger_danger/pseuds/granger_danger)

I. White Sheets

The sheets are always hotel crisp, Muggle posh. She always pays, then pretends that she doesn’t mind that she always pays.

There is a constellation of freckles and moles across her back. He traces them, connecting the dots until they make the shape of a bird.

“What are you writing?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he whispers, only dimly aware that he is drawing her wings.

II. White Ceiling

“Do you love her?” Hermione will ask, voice quavering, when he inevitably gets caught. He isn’t as good at secrets like she is.

He won’t answer because he doesn’t know. Love isn’t quite the right word.

“I could look away from it,” he imagines Hermione saying, “if you loved her.” His mind-wife is always compassionately, magnanimously disappointed, even though his actual wife has a history of setting birds at him.

“Is that what I’m to do,” he’ll sneer, “if you love _him?”_ And he will revel, bitterly, in the drop of her jaw before storming out.

Ron blinks at the ceiling. Real-Hermione snores softly beside him, her hair exploding over the pillowcase. These sheets are affordable gray jersey, with a chambray duvet she claims hides dirt.

On the chair, Hermione’s Unspeakable robes are laid out for tomorrow. For today.

She won’t ask him any questions because she cannot answer his. No answers whatsoever about her job, or her work partner, or why she’s so strange around Draco Malfoy: overly familiar, too much frisson.

III. White Parchment

A cryptic note on expensive, creamy stationary started the whole mess; he’d met her in the park.

“Your wife is sleeping with my husband.” Astoria had been perched on a park bench, her face obscured by a broad-brimmed hat and chic sunglasses.

Believing her had been convenient.

IV. Black & White

In the grainy photograph, Draco grasped Hermione’s hand and she pulled it back in an endless loop, a look of impossibly sad longing passing between them.

Harry examined it, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

 _At least an emotional affair,_ Astoria had said.

“What’s the difference” — Ron paced — “between wanting to do something and doing it?!”

“Considerable.” Harry’s voice was sharp. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

So Ron closed himself, like a fist, and made bad choices because he could.

V. White Noise

Astoria is pretty, willowy and quiet, and she’s dying slowly of a blood curse.

It’s not love, but whenever they kiss, the terrible throbbing of his life in his ears goes blissfully quiet.

VI. White Lies

As soon as they pass the Malfoys in Diagon Alley, Ron knows he’s made a grave miscalculation.

People who have slept together don’t look at each other with this much unresolved lightning.

Astoria smiles, a polite public smile, but his ears go red. He knows too much. He knows the bird on her back, knows her breathy noises, knows the distinction between desire and action.

It’s the difference between holding a stick of dynamite and detonating it.


	9. White Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: White Knight  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 499  
> Warnings: N/A
> 
> AUTHOR: [Misdemeanor1331](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdemeanor1331/pseuds/Misdemeanor1331)

Auror Team Seven crouched low amongst the wildflowers, approaching the cottage from the west in Ministry-standard wedge formation. Tactically, it was a good option: the building’s west side had fewest windows, and the setting sun at their backs meant the target would be blind to their approach. 

Though it wasn’t their _best_ option. Ideally, the op would be run at night, under cover of darkness and while the target was asleep. Only… 

They weren’t sure Astoria would live that long. 

“Ron. Status report.” Harry’s voice sounded through the Extendable Earpiece. 

“All clear, no movement.” Ron raised a clenched fist, halting his team. “How do thermals look?” 

“No traces,” Harry confirmed. “Bombarda is a go.” 

The stone wall exploded. The debris flew north and south in a controlled scatter, and Ron’s team rushed into the void. 

A jet of green light nearly pierced him, sizzling over his left shoulder and singeing his dragon-hide armour. Ron fought the adrenaline spike and took cover behind a bookshelf. 

“Single hostile,” he said on a measured exhale. “East corridor.” 

“Engaging.” Two of his unit broke off, heading toward the assailant. 

“You okay?” Harry again. He sounded worried. 

Ron willed steel into his spine. “Never better. En route to the objective.” He pulled himself from cover and crept deeper into the house. 

He stopped in the kitchen, caught by the pungent stench of human waste. The cellar door had been bolted, padlocked, and jinxed. After a series of charms that would’ve made Hermione proud, the door eased open. 

The stairs creaked beneath his weight, and the smell of captive humanity grew with each step. Ron paused at the bottom landing, wand raised. 

“Astoria?” 

A pale figure lurched from the darkness. Ron didn’t see the wooden plank until it was inches from his head. He flinched backwards, but the board clipped his temple, landing him hard upon the stairs and sparking flashbulbs behind his eyes. 

Astoria bellowed, her primal will to survive encapsulated in one, magnificent sound. Even dazed, the cry sent chills up his spine. 

“Wait.” Little more than a groan, spoken behind raised hands that would do nothing against her weapon. “I’m an Auror. Ron Weasley. I’m here to save—” 

Astoria stood over him, lips curled into a snarl, chest heaving. “I don’t need a white knight. I was getting out of here on my own.” 

“Reckon you were,” he said. He made to stand when a voice spoke in his ear. He relayed the update. “Lestrange is in custody. It’s over.” 

She breathed an incredulous laugh, and Ron felt the truth of it. 

It wasn’t over. Not until she could face the darkness alone and without terror. 

“You’ll be okay,” he corrected. 

“How do you know?” Half dismissive, half sincere. 

“Because I’ve been there. You’re not alone.” 

Astoria lifted her trembling chin. “You promise?” 

“I do.” 

She helped him stand, and Ron felt her trust fall heavy across his shoulders. And he stood tall beneath its weight, certain he was worthy of it.


End file.
